


Dre's Issues

by Slim_N_Dre



Category: Dr. Dre (Musician), Eminem (Musician)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:07:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25059007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slim_N_Dre/pseuds/Slim_N_Dre
Summary: Compilation of small stories about some issues/troubles Dre has dealt with (based on things he has said in interviews/others have said about him)Stories do include eminem as a character and go into their friendship a bit.
Relationships: Dr. Dre/Eminem
Comments: 8
Kudos: 23





	1. Weight Issues

*Setting: In the studio October 1999 in Los Angeles recording the chronic 2001. Room is full of people like the D.O.C., Snoop, Xzibit, Devon the Dude etc. and of course Em and Dre. The studio is full of people having fun, cracking jokes, and making music. Eminem is eating random snacks and drinking a soda while waiting for an assistant to come back with KFC for the group*

*Note: sentences without note of who said them are said by random people in the studio group *

(Marshall's POV)

"Em, if you keep eating snacks like that you're gonna end up lookin like Dre." 

The room bursted into laughter, Marshall started to chuckle while popping a chip into his mouth. He looked over at Dre and noticed that he wasn't laughing along. Marshall stopped laughing. 

"Hey y'all that's not funny." Marshall stated

"We just playin wit you man."

"Yeah. Don't worry about it slim... You'd have to eat a lot worse than that to end up looking like Dre." 

"Ay. Ay If he looked like Dre we wouldn't be able to call him SLIM shady no more!"

The room erupted in laughter again. He looked over at Dre again and he could tell that Dre was biting the inside of his cheek. 

Dre had told Marshall before, months ago, that if anyone ever asked him personal questions in an interview or something and he felt like he was going to cry, to just bite his cheek. It was supposed to make you focus on the physical pain instead of the emotional pain. Now he always bit his cheeks when he was trying not to cry.  
That's exactly what Dre was doing.  
The laughter died down and before another joke could be made, Marshall started talking about whatever else he could think of. Rhymes. The beat. Literally anything else. 

Eventually the attention was drawn back to the music. Dre had developed the beat enough that every rapper in there was nodding their heads and writing their verses, himself included. He'd stop every once in a while to watch Dre do his thing on the sound board. How the hell he made such whole beats was a complete mystery to him. The man was a genius. The group started to take turns sharing small snippets of what they had written in order to determine who deserved the rights to Dre's new beat. The session was dismantled by 2 assistants carrying bags that contained multiple buckets of fried chicken and sides from KFC. It was one of the cheapest ways Dre could keep the Aftermath staff fed. 

The group tore into the food. Marshall was starved. Between everything going on in his life with his new found fame, he found himself often forgetting to eat. He and Dre would go full days without remembering to eat until late into the night. Today was one of those days. He got himself a plate and started to chow down with the others before he realized that Dre was still standing at the board, not even pressing buttons, just standing there. 

"Hey Dre. Food's here, man." Marshall said 

"I know." Dre responded blankly 

"You're not hungry?" Marshall asked. He knew neither of them had eaten since the day before. 

"Dre's not hungry?! That's something I ain't never heard before!" 

Laughter spread throughout the room before Dre could respond. 

"I'm just focused, that's all." Dre said without ever turning away from the board. 

"Ay let him be man, you know how Dre gets. He can't turn from the beat once he gets it going." 

"Yeah let the maestro work, Em." 

Rather than trying to fight it Marshall went back to minding his own business and continued to eat and joke with the others while Dre's smooth sonics played in the background. After a while he noticed that it didnt sound like the beat was being changed anymore and he turned to find that Dre was no longer there. He had a habit of being able to disappear unnoticed. 

"Hey y'all, where'd he go?" Marsh asked referring to where Dre had been standing.

"I dunno but if he wants some of this chicken he better come back before Snoop's high ass eats it all." 

Marshall got up and left the room in a pool of laughter, he claimed he had to use the restroom as he left.

He walked past the platinum plaques that decorated the walls of Aftermath's halls until he reached a small area made up of individual restrooms down the hall with mens on the left and womens on the right. down the hall with mens on the left and womens on the right. He walked up close to one of the doors and heard water running from the sink. Shortly after, the door opened and he came face to face with his mentor. 

"What are you doing?" Dre asked confused "you realize you can use all those bathrooms too right?" He said, with a smirk while referring down the hall. 

Marshall attempted to respond before he realized something. 

"Dre, man are you alright?" 

"Me? Yeah. Why?" Dre said as he started to walk off 

"...Your face looks kinda red. And your eyes look kinda swollen." Marsh stated. 

Dre stopped in his tracks. Maybe he shouldn't have said that. Dre went back into the restroom and looked at himself in the mirror before letting out a sigh. Since being signed, Marshall had noticed that Dre seemed a bit more sensitive than most people would think. He would joke with the others, but be careful about what it is he was saying. And he got picked on by the group quite a bit more that he should have when you consider the fact that he was technically everyone's boss. You'd think they'd have a bit more respect or at least be able to recognize where to draw the line. Marshall knew everyone was joking but he was starting to think maybe Dre didn't. 

"You know you can make jokes back right?" Marsh asked 

Dre continued to look in the mirror "I know. I just choose not to." 

"If them talking about that shit bothers you, you gotta tell em. I mean I'll stand up for you and shit but that's not gonna doing anything." 

...

Dre started to walk away again. Marsh sighed as he realized he might have overstepped some boundaries. He liked Dre, but they really hadn't known each other long. He felt like they were already close friends, but maybe not. 

"Hey. Dre wait. I'm sorry. I'm just trying to help you, ya know? I don't want you gettin upset and shit because of some assholes cracking jokes and going too far while they're drunk as shit." 

Dre stopped and turned back to face him. "I'm sorry. I appreciate it, I do. Just... it's better to leave it alone. Alright?" Dre asked with a serious tone. 

"Alright... hey?" Marsh said as Dre began to walk away again "You gotta eat though man. That shit ain't good for you. Starving yourself ain't gonna do shit but ware you down." 

Dre just sighed and ran his fingers through his hair "yeah I'll keep that in mind." 

*setting: nearly 8 years later, November 2006. Marsh and Dre are meeting at the studio in LA to work on some tracks. At this point Dre had been working out for a while and it was really starting to show. Marshall has been on tour and they haven't seen each other in a few months.*

(Marshall's POV)

He pulled up to the studio and grabbed his jacket before getting out of the car. It was a bit chilly in LA at this time of year, cold enough to need a long sleeve but you didn't need a jacket until after dark. He walked through the lobby of the large building before heading upstairs to where Aftermath was located. He was early. He hadn't seen Dre in months so he wanted time to catch up before others started to show. He got to the 5th floor and found the doors to Aftermath unlocked, Dre was already there of course. He walked through the doors and made his way from the reception area to the studio where he found his mentor playing with the board. He knew Dre had been gaining a bit of muscle lately but he hadn't realized the extent of it. He was shocked when he saw Dre's arms and chest seem to fill the fitted shirt that hugged tight enough that you could almost see his abs through the cloth. 

"Holy hell. And I thought they called me superman." Marsh joked as he made his presence known. 

Dre walked over from the board and pulled him in for a close hug. "Damn it's good to see you."

They both sat on the couch and made conversation about what had been up with them for the past few months. They talked families, tours, and music while laughing and enjoying themselves. Marshall took in Dre's new look. He never use to wear tight long sleeves like that but it looked good on him. Really good. His face almost had a completely different shape to it. He found himself staring at Dre's newly chiseled jaw line. 

"Marsh, you good?" Dre asked with a chuckle 

"Huh? Yeah I'm alright. I'll be honest I was kinds checking you out. Not in a weird way but like--" 

Dre laughed "it's alright I get it. I know, I look different." 

"You look really good though. Honestly. Like I'm proud of you man." 

"Thanks... you know it wasn't easy." 

"Oh I figure. I never said it was. I mean I'm pretty fit but you're like body builder lookin." 

"You know I looked kinda like this last time you saw me. I just wasn't comfortable wearing tight fitting stuff yet. Like I wasn't ready to let people see yet." 

"Yeah I know you were getting more muscle and all that? I just didn't realize how much." 

"Yeah I know. This is the first time I'm wearing a shirt like this in public...Is it too much?" Dre asked cautiously. Marsh could see the worried look on his face. 

"Personally?.." Marsh scooted a bit closer to Dre and looked him over again before fixing his eyes on his. He smiled at him "I think you look really good." 

Dre's lips slowly curled into a smile. He smiled back at him and the two sat like that for a second before people started to make their way into the room. Before long the room was filled with Aftermath staff members and other friends. They also joked and laughed as usual while Dre made the beat. 

"Ay Dre, yo surgeon missed a spot!" 

The room started to laugh and crack jokes about Dre getting liposuction or being on steroids. Marshall looked over at Dre and saw Dre already looking back at him. He gave Dre a concerned look in the hope that Dre would ignore it and wouldn't let it get to him. 

"Hey." Dre chimed in 

Uh oh. 

Dre continued "Don't be mad because you're too broke to get the surgery yourself." 

Marshall and the rest of the room erupted into laughter. Marshall smiled over at Dre who just smiled back in return. Attaboy Dre, attaboy.


	2. Rumors

*a clip from a 2012 Suge Knight interview is playing on the TV. Suge is making claims about Tupac having called Dre out for being gay* 

Dre sat on the couch at his Calabasas mansion. He pulled his phone out and typed "Dr.Dre" in the google news search bar. He normally doesn't bother checking social media or what news channels have to say about him but this one struck a nerve. He always tuned in whenever Suge was involved. He scrolled through a plethora of news titles 'Suge Knight Claims Dr.Dre is Gay' 'The Dre Is Gay Rumors Are Back' 'Suge Quotes Tupac, Says Dre Is Gay' . He scrolled through a few more before setting his phone down and burying his face in his palms. He groaned in frustration before taking a deep breath and getting up to grab a bottle of water. He stood there thinking to himself before he heard a knock at the door.  
He walked towards the door and opened it to find some of the Aftermath staff, ready to get to a hard day at work in his home studio. He welcomed them in and down to the studio. He decided to get started on a beat before Marshall showed up, his plane would be landing soon so he'd be here within the hour. Dre continued to pull his phone out every once in a while and check what the media was saying. 

"Dre, dawg don't worry about Suge."

"Yeah, Cuh. He just talking shit cause he in jail." 

He was married and had kids so no one really believed what Suge said, right? He tried not to let it get to him but he couldn't help it. It wasn't long before Mr. Mathers showed up at the door. That made him feel better. For the rest of the session his mind was completely taken off of the situation at hand. The beats went on until early into the morning. People startled to take off as the hours went by. By about 4a.m. the last of the group took off and it was just he and Marshall left. He started to shut the studio down. 

"You staying here tonight or what?" Dre asked

"Like in bed with you? Sure." Marshall joked 

Dre stopped and sighed while looking down at the board in front of him.

"Wait. Dre I wasn't talking about the whole Suge thing. I was just joking. I didn't even think about it. I swear I wasn't--" Marshall tried to explain

He knew better than to think Marshall would poke fun at him like that. He hated Suge just as much as he did. 

"Are people saying anything?" Marsh asked 

"I mean media. Not really anyone we know I think. But you know people are talking about it. They have to be."

"I'm not"

"Maybe you're not." 

"These rumors have been around forever though. At least since before I met you and I didn't even believe em back then." 

"I just don't get why people keep bringing it up." 

"Well when it comes to Suge... he'll do anything to be relevant for a minute, and you know that Dre." 

"Yeah I know." 

"Don't even sweat it. No one gives a fuck what that asshat has to say anyways." 

"Yeah that's actually probably true." 

"If it was true though, would you tell me?" 

"That no one gives a fuck about Suge?" 

"No. The gay thing."

"So you DO believe it." 

"No. I'm not saying I do. With how many kids you got, ain't no way. But I'm just sayin if it IS true or if it's even half true, I wouldn't care." 

"If you don't believe it then why'd you ask?" 

"I don't assume things Dre. It's how I was raised." 

"Then why'd you ask?" 

"...you know what? Never mind, I really don't know why I asked. It's not like it matters. Makes no difference to me." 

He wouldn't have even been able to explain how glad he was to hear Marshall say that. 

"It makes no difference to me Dre. Honest. Just don't hit on me." Marshall joked 

"Why not?" Dre joked back 

"Because. I might like it. And I'm not ready to admit that to myself yet." 

Dre laughed in response "shiiiit is there something you might wanna tell me?" 

"Yeah. You first." Marshall joked 

Dre just smiled and shook his head. He walked with Marshall over to his guest house and stayed for a minute to make sure he was comfortable. He said goodnight before starting to head out the front door. 

"Wait." Marshall said before giving him a hug

He was taken back when Marshall got on his toes, put one hand on his cheek and pulled his face close before kissing his other cheek. 

He looked at Marshall confused "what'd you do that for?!" 

"See if I could get a reaction." 

"I'm not gay!" Dre said half joking half serious 

"You sure?" 

"I'm sure." 

"Bi?" 

"Marshall." 

Marshall stopped messing around and let him start heading back towards the house. 

"I'm not saying I think you are or aren't. But I'm saying I'm here if you ever wanna tell me anything." 

Dre continued towards the house and whispered to himself "Maybe one day, Marsh. Just not today."


	3. Anxious

(Dre's POV) 

He walked up to the building where the ASCAP awards were being held, Nicole held his hand and walked beside him. As they walked he was immediately flooded by paparazzi. Everywhere he looked there was a camera pointed at him in each direction. Flashing lights continuing until it started to give him a headache. All he could hear was a roar of voices asking so many questions that he couldn't even answer one before the next was asked. He held on tight to Nicole's hand as they made their way into the building. As they walked into the building they were greeted by hosts who led them to the table where they would be sitting for most of the night. They sat and walked through the steps of the night. 

"Show starts at 7 but they you are free to mingle until then. Be seated by 6:40, food would be served by 6:50. At 7 the intro to the award show will start, awards should begin to be presented by 7:30. Here's a list of honorees. When you go to receive your award be ready to go on stage as your name is called, don't be late. We have to stay on schedule. Don't be early either, you don't want to just stand there while your presenter is still giving their speech..."

The man continued through a list of rules and plans for how the night would go down. He paid as close attention as he could, he didn't want to miss anything important. The man finished explaining by about 5:20. Dre looked at his watch then around the room. There weren't that many people there. Were they too early? Was he even supposed to be there yet? He looked around the room and didn't see anyone he recognized. Nicole did. Before long she had invited a woman over to socialize but Dre had never met this woman before. They chatted while he sat there awkwardly checking his phone. He didn't really use social media or anything so he just scrolled through his pictures, notes, settings, and whatever else while the ladies talked. Eventually the womans husband came over and made conversation with him. They discussed the awards and their jobs. Upon further discussion the man began to speak about politics and current events. He himself didn't like to talk politics with strangers out of fear of confrontation and the man was saying so things he didn't agree with so he just stayed quiet. This led to the man beginning to get frustrated. Dre tried to explain that he just didn't feel comfortable talking politics at the moment but the man kept trying to push him. He shot Nicole a look thinking that she'd help him out but she brushed it off. He luckily was saved by Jimmy Iovine arriving and pulling him away from the conversation. The two talked instead, and he let Jimmy speak politics with the man freely. Shortly after, he and Jimmy went to grab drinks from the bar. At the bar Jimmy ran into someone he knew and they began to talk as Dre continued to stand there and hold his drink. He went to sit his drink on the bar but accidentally dropped it, causing the drink to spill and the glass to shatter. He looked up and saw an employee quickly coming to clean the spill. He looked around the room and saw multiple eyes now staring at him, probably judging him for being clumsy. Jimmy and his friend cracked jokes about it, he knew they were just messing around but it still made him feel bad.   
He continued to follow Jimmy around the party as he socialized with people whom Dre had either never met or didn't feel very comfortable with. Whenever they did run into someone like Diddy or Will.I.Am, they would take a picture and talk for a while but before long they would be talking over Dre and excluding him from the conversation. Dre made his way back over to the table. He was starving, luckily the food would be served and the show would start soon. The woman Nicole was talking to eventually made her way back to her own table so he was able to actually socialize with his wife. Jimmy and his wife joined the two of them at their table as well. Eventually food was served and the host went on stage to start the ceremony.  
Dre began to eat his fish filet and look around the room to ensure that he wasn't eating any faster or any slower that the average of people who were there. He didn't want to be the first person to finish his meal but he didn't want to be the last one either. He enjoyed the food and the company as well as the opening presentation. The award show went smoothly. Towards the end of the ceremony he was to give a speech and present Jimmy Iovine with an ASCAP award, he would next be awarded one himself. He had two speeches written down, one for giving an award and one for recieving. He prayed he didn't mix them up. His leg bounced in a rapid pace as he waited for the correct time to stand up and head for the stage. He felt a bit better about having to give a speech as he watched Marshall, who had the sharpest tongue in the game, stutter as he gave his speech. As he headed up the steps he watched careful to ensure he wouldn't trip. He took a deep breath before he went through each of his speeches and managed not to stutter despite the fact that he could feel his heart pounding in his throat. Once they had gotten their awards and taken pictures he made his way back to his table, this time with Marshall in tow. He could feel himself still shaking lightly even after he had gotten back to the table. He tried to take deep breaths, drink water, anything he could do to calm himself down but it didn't work. Once the show was over there was an afterparty where the attendees could socialize, take pictures, and enjoy their successes before heading out for the night. He was glad Marshall was there, he had no idea that he'd be there. Let alone that he'd be the one presenting him with his award. The two of them tried to just hang out together but they kept getting swarmed by crowds of people wanting to talk to each of them. Dre still hadn't calmed down from the award show. He was still shaking and short of breath. He felt himself start to feel sick so he excused him and tried not to look rushed or desperate as he went looking for, hopefully a private, restroom that he could try to calm himself down in. He found the restroom and realized that there were other people in there. On the far end of the restroom, away from the stalls and sinks was a small sitting area that was kinda hidden by a wall that acted as a divider. He went to a sink and started to wash his hands until the other person in there walked out. He then started to splash water onto his face. He felt himself continuing to get hot flashes and made his way over to the seating area. He sat with his elbows on his knees and his face in his palms. He heard someone else walk in and desperately hoped they wouldn't notice he was in there. 

"Andre, what's wrong?" 

He looked up as Marshall sat next to him and put a hand on his shoulder 

"Are you alright? Did something happen?" 

"No I'm fine..." he said quietly as he stared forward "there were just too many people around me I guess." 

"You having like a panic attack or something?" 

"Yeah kinda." He sighed 

"What do I need to do?" Marsh said as he gently rubbed his back in an attempt to comfort him. 

Dre could feel himself getting kinda numb and light headed. He decided it was safer to lean back rather than forward incase he blacked out. Marshall picked up on this and stayed close to him, ready to catch him if he did black out. 

"I'm sorry." Dre said quietly under his breath 

"What? Why are you sorry?" 

Dre shrugged "you're having to be in here with me instead of out there." 

"Why would I wanna be out there? I don't know no one out there. Why would I leave you in here?" Marshall hugged him carefully "Don't worry about it. I'm here tonight for you anyways. Not anyone out there." 

They sat together in silence for a while until he felt comfortable enough to go back out where everyone else was. They got up and he splashed his face with water one more time. He looked at himself in the mirror and adjusted his tie. 

"I should probably take this off." 

"Why?" 

"Because... I look stupid." 

"How do you look stupid?"   
"I'm overdressed." 

"What makes you think you're overdressed?" 

"Well everyone else is wearing stuff like that." Dre said referring to the comfortable yet nice clothing Marshall was wearing

"Okay well I saw quite a few people wearing suits so... also who the fuck cares? If you're the best dressed person in here then so what?" 

"Yeah I guess you're right. I need to stop being stupid and caring so much." 

"Hey. Don't say that. It's like you can help it. You know it's an actual sickness right? Whitney tells me about this kind of stuff all the time. It's like a disease. You can't help it if you have it."

He looked over at Marshall and smiled as the two headed for the door and walked back towards the party where they could try to enjoy the rest of the night.


	4. Darkside/Gone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter is based on one of the songs on Dre's Compton album. That album is full of Dre talking about issues with trust, depression, fame, etc. You wanna hear the real Dre? Listen to that album start to finish.

(Dre's POV) 

They were in his home studio doing their usual of getting drunk, making crazy ass beats, and enjoying themselves. Nicole and the kids had gone to Seattle to see her family so he had the house to himself and the freedom to invite whoever to record as he pleased. Marshall was supposed to fly in that night to stay with him but his flight got cancelled. He had left a key under the mat for him incase he flew in before he woke up. He had been having a real good time early on in the night. He always seemed to find himself surrounded by people yet completely alone. It always seemed to happen. He's fine one minute, then the next... the last thing he wanted to do was be there. His anxiety had been messing with him all day. Now this? The hours seemed to drag on and on. He was so tired. It's not like he couldn't handle being up that late, it was a different kind of tired. He was mentally exhausted by the time their session ended. He was relieved when everyone went home and he could just listen to what they recorded by himself. He sat back and listened to one of the many tracks that had been made that day. 

'This sucks.' 

So much was wrong with it. He didn't like the tempo. He didn't like the snare. His voice sounded stupid. He hated the way his voice sounded in a recording. He trashed that song and went onto the next. 

'Hate it' 

He continued this pattern until he could hear the voices of his peers and record execs in his head: "See Dre, this shit right here is why Detox hasn't been released." "Dre can you please just pick a fucking song you actually like?" "At this point it'd be easier for you to retire." 

These voices kept taunting him until his own thoughts drowned out the noise. 

'This is all fucking terrible. No one's going to buy this shit. No one likes this shit. You know why? Because you're irrelevant. You suck at what you do. And you're irrelevant.' 

He sat there with his fists clenched and his jaw locked. He wanted to hit something so bad. He got up and paced the room quickly back and forth, biting the inside of his cheek. He slammed himself down so that he was sitting on the floor. He dug his nails into his upper arm until it felt like he was going to break skin. He couldn't do that. He couldn't leave marks. He decided to pull himself up and try to just go to bed. He walked upstairs into his living room and found himself alone. It was quiet. It haunted him. He felt his stomach growling. He had forgotten to eat earlier in the day. 

'You don't deserve to eat. You didn't earn it. Besides, you could afford to lose a few pounds anyways. You don't want to go back to looking like you did in 2004 do you?'

He felt his chest start to get heavy and his eyes start to water. He grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and made his way upstairs to his bedroom. He shut the door behind him. He walked over to his full length mirror and just stared at the ghost looking back at him. He could feel himself dissociate. He started to strip off his clothes layer by layer in an attempt to feel something. Maybe the cold air against his skin? He found himself standing in front of his shower, so he turned the knob and got in. He didn't have the energy to actually wash himself so he sat on the floor of his shower as the steaming hot water fell over him. He didn't know how long he'd been in there but by the time he got out his skin was red from the heat. He slipped on his boxers and stood looking at himself in the mirror before he got a terrible idea. He went into his bedside drawer and found a pocket knife. He flipped it open and stared from the blade back to his reflection. He sat on the bed and pulled the left side of his boxers up so that it was exposing his upper thigh. It's not like he and Nicole had sex very often anymore. So it's not like anyone would see him without boxers any time soon. He took a sharp breath as he slid the blade across his thigh. He watched as dots of blood started to form in a small thin line. He did it again. And again. And again. 

'You're how old and you're doing this stupid shit?'  
He asked himself 'it's either this or something serious.' And he knew his family would rather the lesser of the two. He continued line after line until his upper left thigh was covered in smears of blood and cuts. He walked into the bathroom and wet a washcloth before carefully cleaning off his leg so that the raw cuts were the only things left. He wiped the blade before he put it back into his bedside table. He turned on his TV for background noise and tried to tune out the intrusive thoughts as he went to sleep. It wasn't long before night terrors woke him up. Thoughts of every stupid thing he had ever done creeped into his mind. The high speed chase. The countless arrests. Him accidentally leaking the Beats deal with Apple. 

'I'm such a fucking idiot.' 

This continued throughout the night. He'd sleep for maybe 30 minutes before he was woken up by his own stupid mistakes. He was exhausted. The cuts started to sting and he started to think of exactly how Nicole would yell at him if she saw them. He suddenly sat up in his bed, lightly shaking. All the controversy, all the rumors, every traumatic moment in his career. Suge, Pac, Eazy. His records not doing well, detox. All of these things taunted him into getting out of bed. It was still dark. He started to walk through his house, aimlessly. He stopped at each of his kids rooms and peered inside, they were empty of course. His kids were old enough that they could all live on their own. Could live without him. He walked down through the studio and debated stopping there but he kept going. He dragged himself through the halls and up the stairs until he was back in his room. He sat in front of his hidden safe and cracked the code on it. He hadn't had to touch his guns in years. He kept them in a safe for his kids safety, incase of an intruder. He grabbed his small handgun, checked to make sure it was loaded, and closed the safe. He made his way back from his room and downstairs towards the studio. He didn't write a note. He didn't try to call or text anyone to let them know he loved them. He didn't want anyone stopping him. He placed the gun down on the side table next to the sound board and hit play on the track he had been working on earlier. Dre sat in his chair that he kept in front of the board and took a while to just look around and think. He thought about his early life; the abuse from his stepdad, the trouble with his mom, having a baby at 17. He thought about his career; not being paid while in the wrecking cru, all the issues with N.W.A. and Ruthless Records, every traumatic detail of Death Row, the struggles while launching Aftermath, Detox never being finished. He thought about his friends and family; he didn't even know who he could trust. A lot of people have come and gone depending on how his financials were doing. It was always about the money. Were they there for him? Or the money? He hated being rich for this reason, but he was glad that his kids would be well off financially after he was gone. Dre took one last look around his home studio as tears fell down his cheeks. He closed his eyes and listened to the beat as he cocked the gun. With his eyes still closed he held the gun underneath his chin with the barrel facing up. His family would be fine without him. He had already lived through enough to fill multiple lifetimes. He placed his finger on the trigger and took a deep breath. 

Okay...

One...

Two...

Thr--

"ANDRE, WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING!?" 

Dre thought for a minute that the voices in his head were trying to talk him out of it but no. This wasn't in his head. He turned to find Marshall standing in the doorway of the studio. Marsh started to walk towards him slowly, like a trainer would approach a wild animal. 

"Andre. Please. Just... give me the gun. Okay?" 

Dre just sat there for a second. Now he was fucked. He sighed and put the gun on safety before handing it to Marshall. They stood in silence for a while. Neither one of them really knew what to say.  
Marshall placed the gun on a table on the other side of the room facing away from them before coming back pulling a chair next to Dre. They continued to sit in silence for a while. Dre quietly wiped his tears as they fell down his face, almost like he was trying to hide it. 

"You could have called me." 

... 

"I get it though. I didn't call you either last time I tried it." 

...

"Do you want to go to a hospital?" 

"For what?" 

"I dunno... A mental hospital." 

"Absolutely not. You know damn well TMZ would somehow get wind of that shit and blow it up." 

"That's fair... Andre I think you need some kind of help though." 

"I need help? YOU of all people are telling ME that I need help? Which one of us has a 'slit me' tattoo on their wrist? Which one of us tried to drown the pain with drugs?" 

"Alright I fucking get it. Whatever. Forgive me for not wanting you to get hurt." 

"... I'm sorry." 

Marshall stood up out of his chair. Dre sighed and put his face in his hands. 'Good going. He was trying to help you and you talk about his drug problem. You're a fucking terrible person. He shouldn't have stopped you.' His thoughts were broken by Marshall coming up from behind and wrapping his arms around him. Because he was sitting down, Marshall was able to place his head on top of his while he hugged him. Dre sighed. 

"You're a good person Dre. And you mean a lot more to people than you think." Marshall said while holding him against him. 

Dre hugged onto Marshall's arms and leaned his head back against Marshall's chest. They stayed like that for a while before Dre finally felt himself starting to get tired. They decided to finally make their way back upstairs and found that the sun was starting to rise. Marshall carried the gun as they walked back up to Dre's room. Dre sat down on his bed as Marshall walked over towards the safe. 

"Code?" 

"My birthday." 

Marshall input the code and locked the gun away, back where it had been. Like it never even happened. 

"I have a guest room set up for you." 

"No offense, but I don't really trust you to be by yourself right now." Marshall said as he sat down on the couch on the other side of the bedroom. 

"So you just gonna sleep on my couch?" 

"Yeah I guess so. I honestly slept on the flight here so I'm not as tired as I could be." 

"Okay that's fine. You can watch TV or something if you want." 

"Yeah okay." Marshall turned on the TV and scrolled through the channels. 

Dre laid back down and tried to sleep but his thoughts continued to take over. He somehow felt worse than he did before. Now he felt guilty or like he was in trouble since he had been caught. His mind tore into him. He felt his chest get tight again and his mouth start to water as tears fell down his face. He tried to be quiet and hide it. He tried to stop but he couldn't, the harder he tried the worse it got. He was starting to gently shake as he cried and desperately tried to hide it beneath the covers. He felt the weight on the other side of the bed shift as Marshall climbed on top of it to sit next to him. Marsh sat beside him and gently rubbed his back. It was comforting but made him cry harder. After a while Marshall actually laid down beside him. Dre turned around to face him. Marsh pulled him close and held him. Dre had taken care of this boy for nearly 20 years and it felt weird for Marshall to be taking care of him but at the same time, he needed it. He laid there and let the intrusive thoughts and all the pain fade away. He focused only on Marshall's heartbeat as he finally gently fell into a deep sleep.


	5. The Aneurysm

*Dre's POV* 

Daylight crept up on him as he laid in bed, still attempting to fall asleep. He had been tossing and turning all night. Still not use to sleeping alone. He looked over at his bedside clock, hoping that it was still early enough to attempt to sleep at least an hour. 

7:13a.m. 

Uuugh. He groaned as he reached for his phone, checking to see if anyone had tried to contact him through the night. He pulled up his calendar to double check what time the meeting with his lawyer was scheduled for. 

'8:30. Okay so if I get up now I'll have some time to make myself a cup of coffee and just relax for a bit.'

He attempted to convince himself to get up but just couldn't. He continued to lie there tired but unable to sleep for another hour. Finally by about 8 he decided to get up. He searched through his closet for a black button down shirt. No need to put pants on though. It was just a Skype call and he really wasnt feeling it anyways. He made his way downstairs and into the kitchen. The scent of the coffee helped ease his now growing headache as he brewed it. 

For the next hour, his lawyer went through the plan of attack for his court hearing with Nicole on Wednesday. This better be the last time they had to get together and discuss their divorce. By this time he was ready for it to be over with. This year had been hell for him, the divorce alone was enough to kill his spirit but with the lockdown and everything... Dre was feeling beat down. Throughout the day he could feel that something was off. He was nervous. Anxious. He just wanted this court date to be over with. In an attempt to keep his mind off of it he switched between working out, masturbating, and trying to tweak old beats. His new album wasn't done yet and he wasn't sure when or if he was gonna release it. That was just another headache that he didn't even want to deal with.

By about 5p.m. he decided to head into the studio and play with some sounds while the others trickled in. Within an hour the studio was poppin off with smoke, fire beats, and good vibes all around. 

"Damn Dre this beat is sounding kinda sad." 

"Nigga I ain't done with it yet." 

"Nah Dre. He means it legitimately sounds sad. Like you're sad." 

"I cant make hype beats all the time. Gotta switch it up." 

Now that he thought about it, they were right. The beat was sad. In both ways. It did have a dreary sound to it and he was having trouble making it sounds whole. Normally he could just hear every little detail in his head bit today, the sounds weren't there. He couldn't stop thinking about... just... everything. The divorce. Corona. George Floyd. The election. He wanted so badly to just focus on the music. 

"Dre?" 

"Hm?" He was suddenly pulled back by the sound of his name

"You alright big man?"   
"We've been talking to you for a minute and you ain't said nothin." 

"Nah I'm good. Just focused." 

"So what you think about that?" 

"About what?" 

"Maaann I think Dre must have smoked something earlier." They joked "damn dogg you really didn't hear me at all? About the whole album concept? Man I was going for a straight like 30 minutes." 

What? 30 minutes? Dre pulled out his phone and glanced at the time. How the hell? I mean. He knew he had been a bit lost in his thoughts but not for that long. No way. 

"Hey Dre. Man you sure you're good?" The D.O.C. asked, concerned 

He hadn't smoked anything. He had been sipping on his drink a bit but that's it. He wasn't even buzzed. 

"FUCK!" 

Dre quickly hunched over and gripped onto his head as a sharp pain suddenly stabbed him in the temple. It was unlike any migraine he had ever felt before. 

"Dre? Andre. Dude. You good!?" 

The group watched as Dre went from yelling, to grabbing his head, and finally collapsing all within a matter of seconds. His head slammed against the ground as he fell. 

"Oh fuck!" 

"Is he alright?" 

"Dre. Dre. Dude come on man." 

They gently shook him in an attempt to wake him up but it was no use. The engineer grabbed his cellphone and called for an ambulance. 

"Is he dead? Yall. What the fuck."

"Nah he ain't dead he ain't dead."

"Is he breathing?" 

"Yeah I think so." 

"Well what are we doing? Do we give him CPR or something!?" 

"Nigga I dunno. I dunno what the fuck just happened." 

....

"Mr. Young... Mr. Young can you hear me? *into a radio* he's not responding. ETA 5 minutes his oxygen levels are low. No signs of it being a seizure or possible overdose." 

.... 

"We need to get him in for an MRI immediately. This could be fatal." 

....

"Mr. Young?" 

The faint beeping of a heart monitor sounded in the back ground. He laid there confused with tears gently streaming down his face as he struggled to figure out what was going on. He tried desperately to remember what happened but he could only piece together small parts. 

"Mr. Young are you able to respond to me?" 

He tried to catch his breath as he laid there surrounded by medical equipment and doctors. Still not a clue as to what had happened. 

'2020 was bad enough. Why did 2021 have to start like this?'

END

Don't forget about Dre. As of today (Thursday January 7th) he is still in the ICU, his house was almost burglarized Tuesday night, and he even had to settle a court dispute with Nicole from his hospital bed.   
Hope he gets better soon. #PrayForDre


End file.
